Freezing Water
by Val-Creative
Summary: He has a habit of strolling around naked in their high-rise apartment. Post Gemini. SPOILERS. November 11/Misaki. Oneshot.


_Freezing Water  
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_The world was reset. And memories were wiped clean. What happens when the shards of those memories start coming back together. Couple requested by **Reimei-Tsuki.** Reviews most appreciated. :DD  
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_DTB is not something I made up in my brain. Nopenopenope.  
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He has a habit of strolling around naked in their high-rise apartment.

It is not bewildering. At least not to her. It only truly bothers her when an hour or so is dangling precariously in time before her close friend Saito or her childhood playmate Kanami plan to visit her.

…But _why_ he is naked and struggling with a jar of dill pickles is beyond what her understanding can handle so early in the morning. She rubs the space below her right eye slowly; absently.

"There's a method to that, Jack." He glances up towards the sleep-laden voice of his lover, relaxing his tensed stance behind the waist height, granite-topped kitchen counter. His straw-yellow hair is loosened from their usual curl, lax to his forehead and brow. There are two or three lines of reddish purple streaks down the left side of his back, scabbing in the shape of human fingernails.

His eyes are always _ice blue _and impenetrable— but never _cold_ on her.

"Oh?"

She digs her fingers into her messy ponytail, seeking the candy-green rubber band, and slips it free. The sleek, thick strands of brown brush her shoulders. Shortly, she receives the stubborn object from her frustrated lover and wraps the rubber band over the ridged lid of the jar; _once; twice; three times; _and gives a hard, grunting twist with her dominant hand.

_POP!_

His ice eyes widen. He starts to chuckle as a look of triumph drifts over her features. "Well, I'll be damned... I've been working on that thing for fifteen minutes straight...."

"Not as strong as you think you are?" She says with a teasing note, brown eyes behind her black-rimmed glasses smiling.

"I wouldn't say that." His bare arms envelope her, his warm cheek to hers, a hand resting on the bulge of her pregnant stomach. "Where did you learn that, by the way?" He asks.

"Here and there."

"You know any other _tricks_, Yayoi, my dearest? Particularly if they are of the bedroom persuasion..."

A well-earned smack to his pale bicep; He grins toothily, satisfied, as her face grimaces and flushes painfully bright.

.x.

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That is all they are. Jack Simon and Yayoi Ichinose. A CEO president and a free-lance artist. A well-off couple expecting a boy in November; married in two months. _That is -all- they are._

He didn't believe in _God; reincarnation_.

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Even so... there is _fear_. _Fear _that something was amiss; that it would return full force and without mercy.

They don't speak of their dreams with each other.

They hold nothing back otherwise. He knows its been her secret passion to have been a part of the police force like her deceased Father. She knows he has been lying about quitting smoking.

The dreams, however...

They are _surreal_; _but all too real as well; a tall man in a stark white mask with red lips and a purple bolt; a flutter of black and green leather; _sometimes he thinks he and Yayoi share the same dreams, when her oil portraits are accidentally left out to air on the back patio (she has been stingy lately on letting him see her work) and that man is crouching in the starry background of metropolis Tokyo, his entire being surrounded by what looks like blue electricity; _a talking cat with lavender eyes; ridiculous; it is only a dream after all; but he cannot rid of the taste of blood engulfing his mouth_ _upon waking_.

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He _knows_ them. The strangers living around them; in the city.

It is a feeling like buoyancy… like gravitation... and like hot wires pressing to the walls of his stomach…

A small boy with blond hair and a maroon-colored newsboy hat holds hands with a teenage girl sporting a red braid. The boy stares as Jack passes him, blinking as if from a trance-like state.

The African-American woman at the local grocer with pixie-blue hair; a bag of pears tucked under her armpit; lights up upon seeing him, waving from across the crowd. Jack waves back, uncertainly, feeling a lump develop in his throat and that _fear _rising like unwanted strings connecting; _like a sensation of drowning in freezing water._

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END.

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_Yayoi Ichinose: Misaki's alias in Section 3._


End file.
